


Panic Room

by HeylelAndGoldenWings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cutting, Sad!Tony, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Talk of Suicide, depressed!Tony, heavy trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeylelAndGoldenWings/pseuds/HeylelAndGoldenWings
Summary: Two months. He couldn’t even last two months.(PLEASE heed the warnings. please, please, please.)





	Panic Room

Two months. Tony can’t even go two months without cutting. Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _

 

He had been wanting to for a while. It had been a small but persistent craving at the back of his mind. Just grab the scissors, and  _ do it _ . But then he would shove the thought away and go do something else.  He had already made it one month, he could do another, right?

 

But it all comes down to  _ that one night.  _ He’s not even sure what makes him do it, but he does know it was always just a matter of time. 

 

So he cuts. 

 

And once you start again, it’s hard to stop.

 

So he does again, the next day. 

 

He doesn’t want to tell anyone, so he doesn’t, and he goes on with life like normal, laughing and joking with his team mates. A week goes by before he lets himself do it again. 

 

Tony almost tells someone.  Usually he isn’t worried about the cuts. They’re small and random with no real reason- he doesn’t cut to cut deep, he cuts to cut. 

 

Except this time. He  _ does  _ cut to cut deep. And it’s deep. And it won’t stop bleeding. Of course, Tony doesn’t do it on his arms- he wears short sleeves too often. So he’s not  _ really  _ worried, but the panic sets in after the blood keeps spilling out- on his leg or not, it worries him to see that much blood. 

 

So yeah, he almost tells someone. Almost tells Rhodey.  _ Almost, almost, almost.  _ But he doesn’t, and when it’s bled enough he slaps a bandaid on and goes along with his day, wiping his tears away and putting a smile on his face. 

 

Nobody really worries about him. Except when they do, which is sometimes, and he doesn’t want them to. Sometimes he gets too deep into things and rants about them, and then he feels dumb after. So he tries not to. 

 

It’s been hard. The past few weeks. They’d been too hard. So the first time he actually spends time with Rhodey in  _ months _ , it’s hard. Not to say something. Everything is stressful and moving too fast, and a few tears are shed in the dark of his lab, but he’s not sure Rhodey sees them. Rhodey knows he’s stressed. He can probably hear the way Tony’s voice wavers. But when he offers Tony a hug, Tony only declines. 

 

God, does he regret it. Funny how it is- in the morning, all he could think was that he wanted a hug from Rhodey, that it had been too long.  Still, if Rhodey wanted to, wouldn’t he have just done it?

 

So Tony tries to stop feeling sorry for himself and shoves his stress and panic down and tries to act okay. It works. 

 

Until that night. 

 

He eats a piece of pie in hopes to cheer himself up, and then goes back down to his lab, now empty and just as dark, and lets the tears slip passed his eyes. 

 

Natasha sends him a quick text, asking him how he is.  Fine. He’s fine, he says. Nobody else texts him. (Why couldn’t Steve just respond? Just a simple hello? Or an it’s okay?)

 

He wants to cut deep again. He really, really wants to. He’s so not alright. Today had not been good. Well, it had at first, and then it hadn’t. 

 

“FRIDAY,” he says after a long moment. “People live to die.”

 

“Boss,” her voice is calm, calculated. “What are you thinking?”

 

“I think that I’ve lived long enough.”

 

“Boss,” she warns. “I’m going to call for help.”

 

“No,” Tony spits quickly. “Please. I’m fine. Just… just thinking, that’s all, Fry. No worries. All’s good.”

 

“You’re not supposed to be putting sharp objects into your skin,” FRIDAY objects. “Which you have done three times in the past week or so.”  Which, okay, fair. If she had been JARVIS, somebody would already know. But she’s not. She’s  _ not.   _ Nobody needs to know about this.

 

“I’m just saying,” Tony continues. Then he pauses. “I think Clint sees right through me, Fry.”  There’s no response. “I think he  _ knows  _ something.”

 

“Perhaps that’s a good thing, Mr. Stark.”

 

“No, no,” Tony argues. “It isn’t.”  Tears form in his eyes. “I can’t have anyone knowing. I can’t. I can’t.”

 

Silence. Okay. Fine. If FRIDAY wants to be stubborn, she can be stubborn.  Fine. 

 

He bends down to take a look at his leg.  Fine. It’s fine. He won’t do it again. 

 

His heart hurts. He doesn’t know why. He should be fine. 

 

“I think I’ve lived long enough,” Tony repeats, and a few tears make their way to his cheeks. His hands shake. “I think maybe I also need some help. But I can’t do it. I don’t… I can’t do it. I like that they all think I’m fine. I like it. I do.” He pauses for a long moment. “I’ll ask for help someday. Just… not today.”

 

Disapproving nothingness. 

 

“Love you, too, Fry,” Tony whispers, and picks up his tools. Gotta do  _something_ to distract himself from that dangerous craving. 

 


End file.
